Games
by Be Summer Rain
Summary: Each searching for something they wouldn't know how to find.


Games

_Parable of the Four-Poster_

_Erica Jong_

_Because she wants to touch him,_

_she moves away._

_Because she wants to talk to him,_

_she keeps silent._

_Because she wants to kiss him,_

_she turns away_

_& kisses a man she does not want to kiss._

_He watches_

_thinking she does not want him._

_He listens_

_hearing her silence._

_He turns away_

_thinking her distant_

_& kisses a girl he does not want to kiss._

_…_

_Do they live unhappily ever after?_

_Of course._

_Do they undo their mistakes ever?_

_Never._

_Who is the victim here?_

_Love is the victim._

_Who is the villain?_

_Love that never dies._

It had been a slow week; the sort that made them nervous, uneasy. As if New York were saving itself up, ready to assail them the next day. To bring them to their knees and make a mockery of their efforts, of the few they'd gotten behind bars. Always more, and nothing they could do.

But nobody wanted to dwell on that, and when Fin suggested they head to O'Malley's, the rest agreed. The Captain declined, to nobody's surprise. No one knew, really, what he went home to, but they weren't ready to deal with any more demons than their own.

Olivia pulled on her coat, grateful for this momentary distraction. Glad to delay returning to her tiny hamster wheel, thoughts tumbling over each other, circular, in their desperate efforts to get free. She supposed that the others probably felt the same way, but she wouldn't have asked. She saw a flash of movement near the door - Casey.

It wasn't that she particularly disliked the ADA; some personalities simply clashed with her own. She hadn't yet worked out how her partner and Casey managed to get along most of the time, he being more volatile than herself. Perhaps it had something to do with softball, with driving all your energy and anger into a ball. She couldn't quite understand this, never having had time for such games herself.

"Hey," said Elliot, and Olivia looked up, but realized that he wasn't talking to her.

"Oh, hello," Casey replied, and Olivia suddenly found her annoyingly perky. What right did she have to come waltzing in here so damn cheerfully?

"Listen," continued Elliot, and Olivia tried to drown out his voice, "we're heading out for a drink. Wanna come along?"

"Sure," said Casey, sounding a bit surprised at the invitation. Too naïve for Olivia's taste, perhaps that was it. She'd always despised this sort of ignorant innocence.

"C'mon," said Elliot, motioning to the rest. "Let's get out of here."

They sat around a circular table near the back of the bar – Munch had steered them towards this table with chairs rather than their usual booth, attempting to avoid the awkwardness intrinsic with odd numbers, and Olivia found herself sitting next to Fin. It wasn't that she minded sitting by him; it was simply that this was not the way things were supposed to be. She sat with Elliot, Munch and Fin sat next to each other, and Casey – who knew where the hell Casey fit in. Olivia pulled her bottle to her lips, relishing the way it froze her throat, then just as suddenly warmed it. At least it was something to feel.

She looked around, noticed a few women eyeing Elliot with interest, and rolled her eyes. They wouldn't know what they were getting in for. She entertained the idea of going over there and telling them in no uncertain terms – but she realized that she wouldn't know what, exactly, to say, even if she had any right to say something in the first place. Smoke was hanging in the air, blackened ends of sentences ringing harshly in her ears.

She turned her attention to Munch and Fin's conversation, which, as usual, was more of an argument about nothing in particular. She listened half-heartedly, but found her attention straying to the other side, where Elliot was telling Casey a story that Olivia had heard approximately seventeen times before. The story ended abruptly – not how Olivia remembered it. Perhaps she should have listened more carefully back then. Perhaps a thousand things.

"I'm gonna grab a refill," Elliot announced, pulling away from the table. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'll go with you," said Casey. "I've been thinking about grabbing something to eat, and I don't know what they have."

He could have told her – the place wasn't exactly known for its extensive menu – but he merely nodded. Olivia studied the brown bottle in her hands with more determination than necessary, and missed the look Munch and Fin exchanged. She glanced up for a second and saw Elliot's hand resting lightly on the small of Casey's back; she pretended she wasn't fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. She couldn't help but remember his arm around Casey's shoulders those months ago, and saw by Fin's firmly uninterested expression that he remembered too.

"Listen," she said, standing up sharply, "I think I'm gonna head out. There's a bed with my name on it, and I'm exhausted."

"Want us to say your goodbyes?" asked Munch. Olivia shrugged. She wouldn't have told him not to. Wouldn't have said a lot of things, because sometimes there's nothing left to say.

"See you Monday," she told them, and pushed her chair back in as she left.

"Well," Munch began, but Fin silenced him with a look.

"Don' even start."

"As if you're not interested in this little soap opera unfolding before our very eyes?"

"I keep my nose out," said Fin pointedly. Munch rolled his eyes, but was forced to abandon the one-sided conversation as Elliot and Casey returned.

"Olivia in the bathroom?" asked Casey, noticing the empty chair.

"Actually," said Munch, glancing sideways at Fin and then Elliot, "she left."

"What?" asked Elliot. "Why?"

"Tired," said Fin simply.

Elliot stared at him. "Should I…" He left the sentence unfinished. Too much unfinished lately.

"You do what you have to," said Fin in an even tone.

He looked over at Munch.

"Run like hell," said Munch under his breath. Elliot nodded; so did Casey, though he wouldn't see that.

"See you Monday," he said, grabbing his coat and pushing in his chair. They wouldn't have commented on how tied together they are, how much they can't separate. There aren't words for some things.

"Olivia," he called, catching up to her as she turned a corner. She put her hand into the air, waiting for a cab. Trying to ignore him. "Liv," he repeated, catching his breath. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she shrugged. "Am I not allowed to be tired now?" God, Elliot, I'm so tired.

"You could have said goodbye," he said, attempting to study her face.

"You don't need my goodbyes," she told him, her voice icy like her breath. Winters are cruel.

"It's not really a question of needing," said Elliot, uncomfortable with where this conversation was turning.

"Obviously," said Olivia, half under her breath.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Olivia looked away. Pretended to search for a cab. "Dammit, Liv, look at me." He pulled her hand down to her side and she wrenched her arm away, furious.

"Get off me."

He looked at her, surprised. "Since when am I not allowed to touch you?"

Since you touched her, she wanted to say. Since you pulled away. "Look, Elliot, all I want to do is get home and go to sleep."

"To forget," he stated simply, and she looked at him. "Remember, I work the same job you do."

"You used to," she said bitterly. "Now I don't know where the hell you are."

He nodded slowly. "You still could have said goodbye," he said, because there wasn't anything else he dared to say.

She almost laughed; their conversation hovered at the surface when they might as well have breathed the same air. Shared the same blood. "Like I said. You don't need me."

"That's not what you said," he told her carefully.

She bit her lip, but he couldn't see. The night was too dark, the streetlamps too far away. It was a cautious dance, an uncertain game they were playing, fraught with indecision and discomfort and all the ordinary things of life that tunneled viciously through their skin. Each searching for something they wouldn't know how to find. "Slipped out," she said quietly.

"That's what you think?" he said, incredulously. "That I don't need you?"

"What am I supposed to think, Elliot? You've got Casey; go throw a ball around or something." She winced at the unintentional double entendre. "No. You don't need me."

He stared at her, and she realized belatedly that their faces were dangerously close. His hand reached around to the back of her neck, pulling her to him, kissing her hard and angry and sweet. Forgetting everything but her lips under his.

"I need you," he said when she pulled back, something like fear in her eyes, "so fucking badly, Liv. But I can't have you; don't you understand that?" His voice was beginning to carry traces of desperation. Out of breath again, but a different kind of running.

"No," she said, slipping out of his grasp as he fell into her eyes, silently begging her not to leave him. She lowered her eyes, turned towards a cab she saw parked a block away. "I guess I don't."

He watched her leave and swallowed hard. He could taste her alcohol on his lips. Her own special brand of poison.

(the end)


End file.
